


a pinch is not a valid form of measurement (no matter what your grandmother says)

by MissSugarPlum



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (okay it's kind of crack), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Gen, Hunk is Fed Up, IN SPACE!, Not Beta Read, Not actually crack, Shenanigans, Shiro Has Concerns, Team Voltron Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 07:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSugarPlum/pseuds/MissSugarPlum
Summary: “Hunk and Lance are, uh…” Keith trails off, squinting slightly as he ponders his choice of words.“They’recookingtogether,” Pidge supplies. Shiro’s brow furrows.“Okay?” he says, stretching out theOsound. Keith and Pidge exchange a look before beckoning him over.“Just… watch,” Keith tells him, gesturing inside the kitchen. Shiro sidles up close, resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he warily pokes his head around the doorway.He’s not quite sure what to expect, but the tableau before him isnotit.





	a pinch is not a valid form of measurement (no matter what your grandmother says)

**Author's Note:**

> Cece [3:28 PM]: Headcanon: Lance can’t remember a word for something. Says vaina. No one gets it. Gets frustrated says chingadero  
> Kels [3:28 PM]: confused looks between the other paladins intensify  
> Aspen [3:29 PM]: hunk is like  
> Aspen [3:29 PM]: the only one who gets it  
> ~  
> Cece [3:33 PM]: Also, lance can cook but hunk hates cooking with him cause Latinos don’t know how to say measurements.  
> Aspen [3:34 PM]: y es  
> Kels [3:34 PM]: "okay but _how much salt_ lance"  
>  Kels [3:34 PM]: “you’ll know when it’s enough”  
> Kels [3:34 PM]: “THATS NOT HOW IT WORKS”  
> Aspen [3:34 PM]: lance makes up his own fuckibg recipes  
> Aspen [3:35 PM]: and cannot explain it to hunk even if his life is on the line  
> Kels [3:35 PM]: “idk!! i just put stuff together until it tasted right!”  
> Cece [3:35 PM]: _he said a vaina amount one too many times and hunk said lance has no business cooking with him_  
>  ~  
> Kels [3:46 PM]: ugh now i want a silly little fic of hunk and lance getting on each others’ nerves in the castleship kitchen  
> Aspen [3:47 PM]: yes  
> Aspen [3:47 PM]: p le ase  
> Kels [3:47 PM]: and everyone else just going “wtf” bc these bffs are like, screaming at each other  
> Aspen [3:47 PM]: just them getting into absolute garbage and petty arguments  
> Kels [3:48 PM]: fuck i’m gonna write it  
> Cece [3:48 PM]: Yes yes
> 
>  
> 
> anyway i stayed up way too late last night finishing this so sorry if it gets kindaaaaa ridiculous? at the end? i need sleep and like, an iv line of coffee directly into my bloodstream
> 
> so uhhhhhhh enjoy

Shiro is just leaving the training room after a rigorous several rounds against the gladiator bot, sweaty and exhausted but proud of the progress he’s made, when he hears it.

 

He pauses on his way down the hall, head cocked because it sounds almost like—yelling? He wavers for a minute, torn between the need to investigate and the need to shower, before sighing and heading the opposite direction of his bedroom.

 

A loud _clang_ reverberates through the hallway, along with another series of shouts, and Shiro picks up his pace in an instant, legs pumping furiously—the noise sounded like it came from the kitchen, and Shiro’s mind goes wild with the possibilities of what it could be—something as benign as the food goo machine malfunctioning again, or as threatening as an unknown foe, sneaking aboard the castleship and taking them all out, one by one—he remembers Hunk mentioning something earlier about wanting to try a few new recipes, and he always gets so focused on what he’s doing, if the enemy manages to catch him by surprise then—

 

Shiro’s thoughts and his feet both stop short upon arriving at the scene at the open doorway leading into the kitchen. Keith and Pidge are huddled together, shoulders tensed warily as they peek their heads into the kitchen. They both scamper back as something—was that a _frying pan?_ —goes flying past.

 

“Holy _quiznack_ ,” Pidge breathes out, eyes wide behind her glasses as she reaches out to clutch at Keith. Keith makes a small noise of agreement, clutching back just as tightly.

 

“What in the world is going on?” Shiro asks, and is hurriedly shushed by the other two. He raises an eyebrow at them instead, bemused and a little thrown by the apparent lack of threat.

 

“Hunk and Lance are, uh…” Keith trails off, squinting slightly as he ponders his choice of words.

 

“They’re _cooking_ together,” Pidge supplies. Shiro’s brow furrows.

 

“Okay?” he says, stretching out the _O_ sound. Keith and Pidge exchange a look before beckoning him over.

 

“Just… watch,” Keith tells him, gesturing inside the kitchen. Shiro sidles up close, resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he warily pokes his head around the doorway.

 

He’s not quite sure what to expect, but the tableau before him is _not_ it.

 

The kitchen, usually kept so immaculately clean by Hunk, is in shambles. There are dirty dishes everywhere, pots and pans and cookware that Shiro doesn’t even have names for stacked haphazardly on the counters, countless utensils are strewn about like they were thrown out of the way in a hurry, and what looks like what was once a bag of flour sits sadly on the floor, its contents coating nearly the entire kitchen. Hunk, similarly coated, has his arms crossed as he stares unimpressedly at Lance, who, miraculously, doesn’t seem to have a speck on him.

 

“I don’t understand the problem here!” Lance is saying, waving around something Shiro would assume is some form of space ladle, if ladles had triangular prongs on them and were thicker than his Galra arm.

 

Space sure is a trip, he thinks.

 

Hunk sighs irritably, and it’s the least favorably Shiro has ever seen him look at anyone not an enemy, let alone his best friend. “The problem is I need the _measurements_ , Lance.”

 

“I told you the measurements!”

 

“ _No_ , you didn’t. You told me the same thing you always tell me, and for the last time, a _vaina_ amount is _not an accurate form of measurement_!”

 

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t know the recipe down to the exact _milligram_ like you always do—”

 

“That’s not the point!” Hunk looks about two seconds away from either tearing his hair out or strangling Lance, and Shiro’s eyebrows raise again as he takes in the way Hunk’s fingers are twitching like he can’t actually decide between the two actions. “This is why I hate cooking with you, Lance, I _hate it_ , I really do, _why do I do this to myself_?”

 

“Aw, buddy, no, don’t talk like that,” Lance protests, and he reaches out to pat Hunk’s shoulder consolingly. “You’re doing great! We’re doing great, just look at this place!”

 

“ _This place is a disaster!_ ” Hunk wails. Lance hums in commiseration, moving on to rubbing between Hunk’s shoulders. It _does_ look like there’s a lot of tension there; Shiro wonders how much of it is due to Lance himself, and does his best to keep his snort contained.

 

Pidge glances at him knowingly. “They’ve been at this for nearly two hours.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“Amazing, isn’t it,” Keith says, entirely deadpan. “Truly remarkable.”

 

“What are they even _doing_?” Shiro asks.

 

“They’ve been trying to recreate some Earth dishes with the stuff we’ve got on board,” Pidge explains, adjusting her glasses. “Lance suggested something his grandma used to make all the time—some kind of stew, I think? I forget the name.”

 

“They’re making _paella_ ,” Keith informs Shiro.

 

Shiro’s eyebrows fly up, and his mouth instantly waters. “They’re making _space paella_?”

 

“I know, right?” Pidge sighs happily. “God bless ’em.”

 

“It was great,” Keith adds, still quiet but no less intense for it. “Lance forgot the word for _pepper grinder_ and started doing this thing with his hands”—Keith demonstrated a flailing sort of motion, and Shiro stifled another laugh—“and got so frustrated when Hunk didn’t understand what he was talking about, he shoved him out of the way to do it himself.”

 

“He’s worse than my _oma_ in the kitchen, I swear,” Pidge grumbles, but she can’t wipe the gleeful smirk from her face.

 

“You feeling better, buddy?” Lance asks Hunk, and Pidge and Keith shush each other and Shiro as Hunk nods, canting his head to one side and sighing as it cracks. Keith winces and cuts a faint glare at Shiro. Shiro smiles innocently at him, stretching his neck in turn and smiling smugly as the faint _crick-crick-crick_ noise deepens the look of disgust on Keith’s face.

 

“Yeah, let’s get back to it,” Hunk says. He doesn’t sound particularly enthused.

 

“Great!” Lance either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about his best friend’s lack of enthusiasm; he’s practically _glowing_ as he inspects the giant stock pot on the stove top-slash-dishwasher contraption. (Shiro spares another second to wonder at the absurdity of alien kitchen appliances.) Lance dips the space ladle into the pot, stirring a few times before pulling it back out, looking it over with a critical eye. “Can you cut up some of those tubers we got from Tolsus? They’re enough like potatoes that I think they’ll work with what we’ve got.”

 

Hunk moves while Lance talks, grabbing a few deep green _things_ that look like some strange cross between an onion and an eggplant, rolling one between his hands before nodding and grabbing a knife. “Good idea. They should be dense enough to help with the richness.”

 

“Exactly!” Lance beams. “Oh, _oh_ —we should add some of the spice we got from that market!”

 

“The purple stuff?” Hunk asks, but he’s already moving to one of the cabinets and pulling down a jar bigger than his head. He unscrews the lid and takes a whiff, and his face screws up like he’s trying really hard not to sneeze. “Oh, _man_ , that stuff is strong.”

 

“I know, right?” Lance crows, looking delighted. “I’d say add no more than a v—uhh, just a little bit, maybe just a pinch or two.”

 

Next to Shiro, Keith snickers while Pidge groans. “He almost said it, he’s totally gonna slip again,” she protests when Keith nudges her expectantly. “The night’s not over yet.”

 

“Are you two _betting_ on them?” Shiro asks, exasperated. Coran is _such_ a bad influence.

 

“Oh, like you wouldn’t,” Pidge scoffs, completely unrepentant. In the kitchen, Shiro sees how Hunk has narrowed his eyes at Lance. He opens his mouth, rethinks whatever he was about to say, and sighs, adding a couple sprinkles of the spice to the chopped-up tubers and tossing it together.

 

Lance stirs the stew again, adds a dash of the stuff they’ve all been using as a salt substitute, then stirs again, nodding satisfactorily. “Hunk, buddy, pass me the thing?”

 

“What thing?”

 

“Here we go,” Pidge says out of the corner of her mouth, grinning anticipatorily.

 

“The thing, the, the— _chingadero_ , the thing!” Lance gestures wildly, indecipherably. “You know what I’m talking about!”

 

“No, Lance, I _really don’t_. You could mean _literally anything_!”

 

“It’s _right there_ —”

 

“Do you see how much stuff is _right here_?!”

 

“—and I need it for the stuff!”

 

“Okay, but _what stuff_ , Lance?!”

 

Silence reins in the kitchen only until Lance splutters indignantly, dropping the space ladle and reaching around Hunk to grab what appears to be an actual spoon, albeit one that’s square in shape and has a giant hole in the middle of it. He returns to his station in front of the stovetop, grumbling to himself as he stirs and brings the spoon up to his lips for a taste.

 

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Shiro whispers, and Pidge stuffs her entire fist in her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

 

“Thank you, universe, for letting me witness this,” Keith says, looking up at the ceiling as if in absolution.

 

“Unbelievable,” Lance is still grousing, even as he adjusts the heat and picks up the aforementioned pepper grinder. “ _Dios mío_ , I don’t know how I can make it any clearer—”

 

Hunk sighs, long and loud, interrupting Lance’s tirade. “Can we just get this over with?” he beseeches tiredly. “I’m hungry, and I’m sure the others are too, it’s gotta be almost dinner time by now.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, food’ll be ready when it’s ready,” Lance says dismissively. Hunk looks ready to scream, and Pidge looks like she’s about to pop a blood vessel from keeping quiet. “Now let’s get these potato-tubers in and get ’em cooking!”

 

“And just _what_ is going on here?” A quiet voice demands, and Pidge, Keith and Shiro all whip around to see Allura standing just behind them, hands on her hips. Her brow is set in a disapproving furrow, though her lips are twisted slightly and there’s a hint of a twinkle in her eye.

 

Shiro flushes, straightening from his perch, and Keith immediately points at Pidge. “It’s her fault,” he says in the next instant, and Pidge lets out a faint sound of pure betrayal.

 

Allura’s lips twitch. “This is a position most unbecoming of the mighty paladins of Voltron,” she muses idly. “I wonder what your teammates would say, should they happen to discover this troublesome misconduct?”

 

“Are you _blackmailing us_?” Keith asks, appalled.

 

“I would never,” Allura informs him loftily, and then she _winks_ at him, of all things. “Such behavior is quite beneath a Princess, I can assure you.”

 

“Unbe _lievable_ ,” Pidge groans as Shiro starts to shepherd her and Keith away from the kitchen at long last. “C’mon, Allura, this is quality entertainment!”

 

“Oh, of that I am well aware.” Allura grins mischievously. “Which is why Coran has concealed himself at the northern entrance with the ocular and auricular documentation mechanism.”

 

The three of them pause, taking a minute to process that.

 

“Are you saying—” Shiro says slowly, and Keith starts to laugh.

 

“—you’re _recording this_?” Pidge nearly has literal stars in her eyes. “I take back everything I ever said about you, Princess.”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Allura asks, but she’s full-on smiling, now.

 

“I never would’a guessed you had it in you,” Pidge says admiringly. “We gotta make a dozen copies right now, let’s go!”

 

She zips off, presumably toward her room, and Allura follows at a slightly more sedate pace, laughingly calling out, “But Coran hasn’t yet finished his documentation—!”

 

Shiro shakes his head at the two, then bumps his shoulder into Keith, who’s finally calming from his laughing fit. “There’s something I never thought I’d see,” he remarks, and Keith snorts.

 

“Don’t make me laugh again, my stomach hurts,” he moans.

 

“Hmm, guess that means more _paella_ for me,” Shiro teases. Keith swats at him half-heartedly.

 

“Try it, jerk,” he says good-naturedly. He shudders half a second later. “Remind me to never, _ever_ go near the kitchen when either of them are in there.”

 

“Only if you do the same for me,” Shiro promises, and he ruffles Keith’s hair, prompting an indignant squawk.

 

“Get off me!” he groans, trying and failing to duck Shiro’s arm. “Gross, you’re so sweaty and disgusting, stop, why are you like this?”

 

Shiro chuckles. “I’m gonna shower before dinner. Try not to get too distracted with the training bots?”

 

Keith scowls and opens his mouth, ready to disagree hotly, when Hunk’s raised voice shouts out _“Lance!”_

 

Keith and Shiro look at each other warily, then toward the kitchen, and back at each other once more.

 

“Space paella is _not_ worth this,” Keith declares, and he takes off down the hall without another word. Shiro sputters a laugh and takes after him, hesitating for only the briefest of seconds.

 

He’ll check back on them after his shower, once he’s certain he won’t get hit by a flying saucepan.

 

-x-

**Author's Note:**

> ~~you know lance stayed up 'til an ungodly hour washing all the dishes and cleaning the kitchen because forget the fact that he's in space, _his mama would know_ if he left a mess in there~~


End file.
